Down the Gorge.

The mountains on our right grew more steep and stepped closer to us. We closely skirted the right bank of the Rangitaiki. Over to the west across the river was Galatea proper; that settlement below the Kaingaroa upland was named after the historic redoubt, Colonel Whitmore's military base, now clothed in fern and peace, which preserves the memory of the Duke of Edinburgh's cruise to New Zealand in H.M.S. Galatea. The Kaingaroa, we saw between the drifts of mist, increased in height and its edge dropped down in bluffs of dark volcanic rock.

Presently the river's course narrowed to a gorge. It ran in rapids, plunging furiously. The Urewera Ranges became a series of bold buttresses, rising precipitously above the yellowing current. Our road was cut out of the cliffs; the rata and rimu trees leaned over us wherever there was a firm root-hold. The gutters of the mountains gushed; from every misty alcove and gully a stream dashed out or a waterfall dropped.

The rain continued; we could not see the mountain tops; they were hidden from us not only by the steep-ness of their pitch but by the soaking mists. Directly below our road, as it snaked and climbed along the range foot, the river was a continuous succession of rapids. It raved and roared; it was no longer the Rangitaiki of the smooth though swift upper reaches.

There were little islands in its course, with trees and ferns. It charged at them and over them, and sent its spray high up the banks. It was a Mad River of the White Mountains, ten miles of it or more before it steadied down.